


What happens in York

by lizzie_pj



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzie_pj/pseuds/lizzie_pj
Summary: Currently a one-shot, but might become a series of moments that Mr. Molesley and Ms. Baxter spend in York, on their mission to prove Mr. Bates's innocence ... Because I often wondered what those days they spent together away from Downton could have been like.





	1. The Cold

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have ideas, but no time to write them down.
> 
> \- This might become a collection of moments spent during that time when Baxter and Molesley tried to prove Mr. Bates's innocence, no promises.

Woolen scarf wrapped around his neck, steaming hot cup of tea in one hand and a much needed handkerchief in the other, Joseph Molesley felt immensely out of place sitting at the bar of the third pub on their list today. He almost regretted not staying at home, is his relatively warm bed when an exceptionally terrible sneeze shook him. Oh, what he would have given now for a bowl of Mrs. Patmore's homemade soup, brought up to him by a friendly faced Andy or Daisy who would try to cheer him up with some newly acquired knowledge about one historical event or another. Or her … His eyes fixed on the woman who had in the past two weeks made it her task to care for him when a horrible cold had more or less tied him to his bed.

Always kind and eager to take on even the worst of cases, she hadn't backed off when he told her what an impossibly stubborn patient he could be. Or when a particularly nasty drunk had all but shouted at her to leave him alone earlier that day. They had left the shady pub soon after, but Joseph still felt the rage building up inside him like fire when he remembered those words. He wished he was at his normal strength and that he had done more than just drag his companion away and out in the early winter cold.  
He thought of the heroes in his books, true gentlemen who would defend a lady's honour at every opportunity they got – not once in all the novels that he had read, had he come across a puffy eyed, aging footman who saved the day.  
'Miss Baxter doesn't need heroes', a low voice that sounded suprisingly enough like Thomas Barrow, spoke up in his head. It was right, Joseph silently agreed when he let his thoughts drift back to the situation. The way she had handled the moment, calm and polite and controlled, it suddenly occured to him that this hadn't been the first time in Miss Baxter's life to be confronted with an unreasonably aggressive person. It hurt his heart to see even a glimpse of what she must have had to cope with in the past, and he admired her for her seemingly inexhaustible strength.

„Tha' one's certainly a keeper, aye?!“ a voice close to him barked and caused Joseph to jump slighty in his seat. The bartender was an unpleasant guy, with half of his teeth missing, hair sticking on his head by a disgustingly high amount of product and his breath full of alcohol. But at least he was cooperative enough to let them question his guests for nothing more than two cups of peppermint tea in return. He nods in the general direction of where Miss Baxter is standing with a dirty smily on his lips.

„She's not … she – I mean, we … she's my friend. Best friend.“ Molesley explained clumsily, but with an air of defense.

"Well, if yer sayin' so..." the bartender shrugged and turned back to another customer, not without another glance at Miss Baxter who was swiftly doing what they had come to York for, today and all the other times before. About halfway through their list of pubs by now, it had begun to seem less and less likely that they would ever come across anyone who remembered John Bates from his own visit in a pub a few months prior. So far, everyone who they had talked to were either one-time bypassers or the constantly drunk regulars who possibly wouldn't be able to remember Bates if their lives depended on it.

Joseph felt another wave of protectiveness flood him as soon as his eyes followed the man's gaze upon the lady's maid's backside. She did look lovely, he thought, with her loose-cut coat wrapped around her slender frame and her hair shining slightly in the dimmed light from bits of snow that had found their way under her hat. Lately, Molesley had often found himself lost in thoughts like this, pondering over the exact shade of Miss Baxter's hair or thinking how fragile she really was under all those layers of clothing. Maybe he was feverish. He wasn't looking at her like the bartender was, was he?  
The thought alone made him nervous and fidgety, causing him to almost knock over his teacup when he grabbed it absentmindedly and just as soon let go of it again, his hand hurting from the sudden contact with the burning heat.

Joseph couldn't help but feel a bit useless. He was ill, washed-out and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, leaving no space for any coherent thought. Maybe the wise thing would really have been to stay at home, leaving Phyllis to go to York by herself for a second time in two weeks. He knew he couldn't after he had been almost sick with worry that first time around already. All day long, he had barely closed his eyes for a much needed rest, wondering instead where she was, if another unsuccessful search had left her disspirited and in need for a cheering up, or if she was having a breakthrough without him. He could not hold back a beaming smile that evening, despite feeling overly tired and worn out, when she walked through his door with the usual soup and tea on a tray. And when she confessed, in a meek voice and with her typical shy smile, that she was in a way relieved that she hadn't solved their case that one time when he wasn't able to be there with her, Joseph had sworn himself that he would not let another day off pass where he didn't accompany her to York.

Of course, Phyllis had been reluctant at first upon him insisting to go with her, when she had noticed how ill he really was, still, even a week later. However, after a half-hearted argument and attempted puppy dog eyes from his side that made her smile and shake her head in a way that expressed very clearly how childish she thought him, they had come to agree that she would take him with her on the one condition that he would rest as much as possible and let her do the questioning.

By the time he nipped on his cup again, the tea had gone almost cold, making him grimace at the bitter taste. Before he could order a third cup though, his eyes met those of his companion, who watched him from the other side of the room. Even in the distance he saw her sad smile and the apologetic shrug. She slowly strode over to the bar.

"Nothing?" He asked in a tired voice that had become too familiar to them lately.

"No, nothing", she replied, equally frustrated. Concern was eminent in her voice and eyes when she noticed the poor state her friend was in. "We should be heading home. It's late, and you're glowing. I hope you didn't catch a fever!"

Without even a single protesting word he let her fuss over him for a moment, feeling her hand on his forehead to test if he was indeed feverish, and feeling himself blush under the touch, silently praying that she wouldn't notice it had nothing to do with his cold. His thoughts drifted back to the bartender's words...Should that man who didn't know him a bit have been right, after all? Joseph had convincingly told himself that he was only so eager to get back to York because it was their mission, together, not hers alone while he sat comfortably in bed, and because he had felt terribly distressed about the idea of sending her out alone. But maybe it wasn't just that, the little voice in his head spoke up again, maybe all this time spent together did change things between them – he was certain now, that he was indeed hallucinating already. Only faintly, he noticed his coat being pulled closer around him.

At last, they left the pub, after Phyllis had wrapped them both up warmly in their respective coats and hats. Somewhere along the way to the station, her hand had slipped into his. She would later insist that it was purely to keep him steady on his feet. Just as he would deny that him sitting next to her in the compartment (as opposed to sitting across from her, with a respectable distance between them) had any other reason than being as close to her as decency would allow. And when had he started to call her by her given name in his head, anyway?


	2. the plan

Her eyes hurt.

It wasn't that late yet but the sparse light made her tired and herwork so much harder to finish. She almost regretted having decided against the idea from earlier of taking the dress upstairs to her own room where the larger rooftop window allowed a bit more evening light inside than the ones down in the ever dark servant's hall. But she wouldn't want to risk missing her Ladyship's bell, especially not with no one else around to alert her in case she did miss the ringing sound.

It was quiet.

From down the corridor Phyllis heard the clattering sounds of pans and pots being moved around and faint footsteps on the staircase. She could vividly imagine the scene in the kitchen, often enough had she observed and admired the busy but efficient work from the sidelines, always taking her utmost care to stay out of way of the kitchen staff and footmen. The hurry in which the meals were prepared, decorated and taken upstairs might look chaotic but it really was hard work and years of experience that had everyone know exactly what to do and when. Faint voices reached her ears and for a second she expected the chairs around her would soon scrape across the stone floor and the servant's hall would fill with chatter of her colleagues. But the talking subsided again and she remained alone. The upstairs dinner party wasn't over yet and the bells on the wall above the small table stayed still and silent, no matter how long she stared at them, daring them to start moving.

Blinking a few times to slightly ease the burning pain behind her lids, Phyllis settled for the task at hand once more. Attaching the strings of tiny beads to Lady Grantham's new dress was a tedious work that needed a lot of attention. Putting it off until after her Ladyship had gone to bed would only leave Phyllis more exhausted and with even less than her usual few hours of sleep in the end. There was no way around it, Lady Grantham wanted the dress finished in time for an important dinner that was only two days away and would be terribly disappointed if she couldn't wear it just because her lady's maid was tired.

She wouldn't show, probably shrug it off with a soft, understanding smile even. And yet, the thought alone of not meeting the standards that were expected of her, flooded Phyllis with so much embarrassment. She owed it to always do her best work for the woman who had been kinder to her than anyone else.

Almost anyone.

Not even her concentrating on the dress in her lap could keep Phyllis from letting her thoughts drift to the other person in the house who had been more understanding and protective than she deserved. She knew by now that his kindness came without conditions, if anything his words and expression earlier when she suggested going with him on his mission to prove Mr. Bates' innocence had shown that genuine friendliness was his only intention. She cherished that, it was a refreshing change from past experiences with men. It evoked in her a feeling of wanting to give something back – not in the way she wanted to please her employer but to show him she wanted to be by his side as much as he stayed at hers.

York.

Absentmindedly, she smiled down at the beads. When she had suggested it, her main reason had been to be of help after her talking to the police about the Bates' had caused the couple such troubles. Now, the prospect of being out alone with Mr. Molesley, visiting the numerous pubs of York, felt almost adventurous. She agreed with him about keeping the whole matter secret for now, until they had some sort of result to present. That was, if their upcoming trips would prove successful. If they weren't … - well, then they'd have a hard time explaining their outings to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The idea both amused and frightened her equally, and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

"What's so funny, Miss Baxter?" a sneering voice cut through the silence, causing her to stiffen in an instant.

Her smile froze when she replied without turning her head around to face the source of her slight distress, "Nothing that would concern you, Mr. Barrow."

"You should know by now, Miss Baxter", the underbutler continued, now leaning dangerously close to her ear, "that it's not for you to decide what concerns me."

Months ago, it would have frightened her to hear the man she only remembered as a little boy talk to her like that, in that low, almost threatening voice. But that was before… everything, really. Things had changed for the better between them lately, they had even been partners in crime against that awful butler at Brancaster castle. It had reminded her of the time when they were still children and Phyllis used to make it her task to help her best friend's little brother whenever he had gotten himself in some sort of situation.

She wasn't frightened now. She knew it was just Thomas' way of letting her know he was important in the household. Harmless, a game really. He might have succesfully hidden the smile from appearing on his face upon her defensive reply, but it did not escape her in the changed tone of his voice.

Now fully alert she didn't miss the second pair of footsteps entering the room as she had with the first. Had she known that Mr. Molesley had caught sight of her in the servant's hall earlier when he was rushing by, or that his eyes had attentively followed Barrow when he made his way down the corridor, she couldn't have been surer that it was him who had joined them.

Usually, they would both linger inside the kitchen for a bit after a great dinner like today. The footmen always had to say a thing or two about the guests, conversation or the dinner itself and would find eager listeners in the maids and kitchen staff until Mr. Carson walked through the door and put a stop to the gossip with his presence alone. He did it with a timely precision that had Phyllis wondering sometimes if the usually so very correct and traditional butler might intentionally close one eye – or ear, rather – on his staff before shutting them down just in time to prevent any real gossip from being shared among the downstairs.

Tonight, she had had no time to wait for stories in the kitchen and five minutes of laughter. Tonight, she had a task at hand – one that she was now very glad of almost having finished, when Mr. Molesley spoke up in her defense. It was unnecessary but not unwelcome.

"Why won't you leave her alone?"

Thomas just rolled his eyes and went to sit down on the other side of the table, so that he would be able to observe the pair from across. The expression was missed by Phyllis who turned around to face her friend and reassure him.

"It's alright, Mr. Molesley. No harm done." Why did she blush, then, when he sat down next to her with that big smile upon his face that made him look slightly funny?

Only when most of the other servants had joined them around the table and conversation was flowing, did Molesley lean closer to his companion to softly talk to her. They found it often easier to talk freely when everyone else was occupied otherwise and not taking notice of the two of them.

"I have talked to Mr. Carson earlier and he agreed to allow me to take Friday off, if I must. He was a bit reluctant but he said that would be the only time he could spare one of us the whole day."

"This Friday?" She asked incredulously, "Well, that's fast."

Her slightly raised voice had alerted Thomas again who had turned his attention towrads them again now, his grin giving away his amusement. Phyllis noticed immediately, scolding herself for her carelessness and giving the man across her an annoyed look. Molesley was ever oblivious when he began to reply.

"Yes, this Friday. I had ho-"

"Shh, not here", she whispered back, nudging her head slightly. "I'm almost finished with this and then I have to get the matching shoes ready. The boot room will be near enough to hear her Ladyship's bell."

\-----------

 

"Forgive me, please, I didn't mean to interrupt you earlier but –" Half-smiling she tilted her head apologetically to one side.

Carefully, and very much in his role of a footman treating everything in the house with a reasonable amount of respect, Molesley closed the door behind him. He was soon to object her silently with a pronounced shaking of his head.

"Oh, don't feel guilty. It was foolish of me to start talking about it when anyone could have overheard us. I was the one wanted it to stay our secret, and you helped me keep it. So, thank you."

Typical for him to make her feel better by taking the blame when she knew it should be her feeling sorry. Mirroring his smile it occurred to her that she might look just as foolish as he did, with a big grin on her face that reached her eyes. Quickly, she averted his gaze and turned her eyes down towards the black shoe she had been polishing for the last few minutes while she had waited for him to join her.

"You will be going this Friday, then? That is very soon, I'm not sure if I can get some time off on such short notice", she changed the subject to the one they had come the boot room for. Phyllis wasn't sure she rightfully deserved his thanks, or any of his kindness for that matter, but saying so or shrugging off his nice words as if they were nothing would only make things more awkward. She needed to keep a clear head to focus on the matter on hand. Something that became increasingly difficult when a lump formed in her stomach and she voiced her worries.

"I'd hate not being able to go with you, that first time", she confessed. She wasn't foolish enough to believe that her going with him was of any significance other than moral support. The plan was all his, Molesley had filled her in on some details already, enough to make sure of leaving her convinced he would manage perfectly fine by himself. What bothered her far more was the thought of her letting him down, and so soon already. Just this morning she had enthusiastically assured him to accompany him on his trip and already she feared she could not fulfill her promise. How she would hate to fail living up to the expectations she had kindled in him.

Yet again, he proved to her his unassuming generosity, telling her without a hint of doubt in his voice that he knew she would do her best asking Lady Grantham for a half-day, and that he would not hold it against her the slightest if she wasn't granted the time off. After having spent the better part of his life in service, Molesley knew well how far less replaceable the work of a lady's maid was compared to that of a footman. It was easy for Mr Carson to let him off for one day – in case a footman would be needed there was always Andy or even Mr. Barrow. But if Lady Grantham decided she would want her maid around for the day in case she might require her assistance, she wouldn't want Miss Baxter to be replaced by someone who wasn't used to her wishes and preferences as well as she was. She was an unusually nice mistress and would make amends if required, but certainly not to let her maid wander around in pubs.

"I will ask her tonight", she reassured him. This, and hoping for some miracle to happen that would cause Lady Grantham to agree to let her go for the day, was the least Phyllis could do. Her next words were a bold move, for her own standards. "And then I'll hurry to come back down, but would you … would you wait up for me?"

For a moment, Molesley looked so shocked that she feared her words might have some secret, inappropriate meaning in his mind. It was confusing how she only ever felt either totally safe around him or completely uncomfortable. Once again, her natural urge to explain herself kicked in and she spoke in her typical small, soft voice. "Of course, you have your own schedule, so please don't think I would want to keep you waiting. I only fear I might not be able to sleep at all if I have to wait until tomorrow to inform you of what she said. If it's bad news, that is."

It seemed to do the trick, as his face softened, a small smile even appearing on his lips once more. "Of course, I will. Wait! … I'll wait, is what I mean", the words left his mouth so quickly that he slightly stumbled over them. "I'd rather we knew tonight, as well."

"Good", she nodded."I need to go now, don't want to keep her Ladyship waiting. I can finish with those shoes later."

"I can do that! There is nothing else pressing to do, and it will keep me busy", he offered reaching out to take hold of the shoes. His fingers brushed against hers for a second. Before either of them realized it, the moment was gone, the shoes now in his firm grip. "I will wait", he affirmed again, "and then I will tell you the rest of my plan."

"Your plan?" She was amused and momentarily astounded how well he had thought it all through already. "I'm looking forward to it."

When she climbed up the stairs a few minutes later, she realized that it wasn't astounding at all really, for Mr. Molesley to have thought his plan well through. In fact, she was quite certain that in would have surprised her far more, had he told her it was all a spontaneous idea. Quite certain, indeed.


End file.
